


yearning, burning

by thecaryatid



Series: easy to find [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, handjobs, older sylvix, they're very loving and soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecaryatid/pseuds/thecaryatid
Summary: Sylvain always returns to Felix.It's just soft, post-canon Sylvix smut.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: easy to find [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753507
Comments: 27
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

Sylvain’s tired of riding on an existential level. The trips back and forth to Sreng - necessary though they are for the good of Sreng, the peace of Faerghus, and more selfishly for Sylvain’s peace-of-mind - are starting to wear on him. 

The moments after he leaves Fraldarius are not the most stressful or the most dangerous in his life these days, but they're the moments where he lingers in melancholy as his horse takes one step after another, guided inexorably northward, away from the soft light of Felix’s eyes and into the far less satisfying lights that splay cold and all-encompassing over the tundra. 

And the best moments are riding back to Fraldarius, walking quick with eagerness and stumbling with tiredness back into their home - theirs, whole and shared, from the library to the dust of the training grounds to the featherbed that’s laughably too large for Felix, sleeping restlessly, muscles tense and shivering even under the finest comforter in the land without Sylvain there to lend his warmth and smooth away the nightmares that still pursue them both. 

Sylvain dreams - literally dreams, has dreams-at-night of Felix, of returning. Occasionally they’re the normal sexy kind. Usually they’re mundane and uneventful, of afternoons passed in quiet companionship, Felix’s undirected sighs and the shift of his hair in the afternoon light serving as panacea for Sylvain’s darkest thoughts. Sometimes they’re dreams of walking through fields with no destination, no beginning or end, the distant roll of the ocean filling the air with quiet staticked thunder, nothing to do and nowhere to go and no one to be. 

Felix isn’t smiling in those ones. He’s watching his surroundings with a frown contemplative rather than displeased, taking in the rustling of the grass and the aimless drifting of the clouds in the sky, letting his gaze settle over Sylvain every few breaths and gently squeezing their joined hands every time he does. 

It’s a good dream. It’s the sort of thing Sylvain tries to hold in his mind like so much balm when sleep is chased away by dangers real and imagined, when the gentle equilibrium he’s found himself at is interrupted by battle or diplomacy or by the echoes of his own fear. Felix walking by his side, a world with no demands, an endless sky.

But no need for clinging to comforting dreams when Sylvain's actually approaching Fraldarius, riding through the gate and unsaddling the horse, trudging up the stairs, everything as it should be. A fire banked low in their sitting room, a letter half-finished on a desk, an inkwell left carelessly open beside it. 

Sylvain stoppers the inkwell, leans close to look at the letter - political? To one of their friends? One meant for him? Oh, _definitely_ one for him, an earnest attempt to answer one of the many, _many_ rather explicit poems he sends with every south-bound messenger. The tone’s pleased, longing, loving. 

And Felix himself slumbers in their wide bed heaped high with pillows and quilts. Sylvain’s not, like, _trying_ to wake him, but the rustle of dirty clothing stripped off and left in a neat pile is enough to disturb Felix, rolling over and blinking up toward the source of the disruption, eyes shining bright and gold even in the dark as he goes from looking for _some intruding asshole_ to recognizing his _husband_. 

“It’s late.” 

“Couldn’t wait to get back to you,” Sylvain says. From Felix a half-smiling _it’s late_ is also an _I was worried about you_ , an _I had to fall asleep without you_ , an _I love you_. Sylvain slips into the bed, naked and probably smelling like a week of unwashed sweat, smooths his thumbs over the lines creasing Felix’s eyes and kisses the tip of his nose, drinks in the sight and feel of his Felix, lithe and adoring and scowling.

Light from the banked fire glimmers onto Felix’s hair. The streaks of grey are more prominent than they were three months ago, bright silver against dark, striking against a face that’s devoid of the usual signs of aging. The silver in Felix’s hair, the frown lines around his eyes, the patience in his gaze - nothing else to show the passage of time. 

Felix grunts in agreement, leans into Sylvain’s touch, and wrinkles his nose. “Did you bathe in shit?” 

He’s so clearly disdainful of Sylvain’s general everything, his sweat-darkened hair and fingers stained with ground-in dirt, the smells of travel. He leans up for another kiss anyway, coaxing Sylvain’s mouth open and grimacing at the taste when he pulls away. “Welcome home.” 

“Good welcome,” Sylvain mumbles into Felix’s mouth in another kiss, trapping Felix into it with a hand in his hair and one guiding his jaw up, fervent and enthusiastic and making sure to give Felix a really thorough taste of whatever disgusting thing Sylvain probably tastes like. 

It’s a testament to how much Felix loves him that Sylvain isn’t immediately shoved off, licking into Felix’s mouth as he is despite Felix’s offended, disgusted noises. It’s a testament to them both, to Felix’s adoration and Sylvain’s unmoving faith in it, that they’re both laughing when Sylvain finally pulls away. 

Felix tries to hide it, of course, tries to shove his laughter behind a scowl. It is not convincing. 

“I missed you.” Sylvain peppers little kisses over every part of Felix’s face, his frown lines and his forehead and his cheeks. “I _missed you_.” 

“It’s good that you’re back,” Felix says, letting himself be kissed despite everything and then relaxing forward into Sylvain’s arms, tucking his head under Sylvain’s chin like it’s the only place he’s ever belonged. “I sleep easier when you’re here.” 

Another sentence that’s a treasure trove of things Felix didn’t quite say, doesn’t have to say, that Sylvain won’t make him say. _I sleep easier when you’re here_ , a gift encompassing _you hold me through my nightmares_ and _I worry when you’re away_ and _your letters are no replacement for you yourself_. A blunt, honest statement filled with half a dozen other truths, each deeper and brighter than the last. 

Sylvain noses the top of Felix’s head, hugging tighter with every word. “I miss holding you. I miss the way you scowl at me. I miss fucking you and eating breakfast with you and braiding your hair.” 

“Yes,” Felix says, and this time he can’t hide his smile at all. “You were quite explicit in your letters.” 

“Gotta make sure you know how much I long for you, kitten,” Sylvain says, already making up for lost time by knotting his hands through Felix’s hair and keeping him pressed safe and secure, perfect as nesting dolls, against his chest. Felix fits nice there, limbs that have never gotten any less slim and muscle-taut folded up against his body, everything tucked neatly inside the outline of Sylvain’s broader frame. 

Felix sighs, one quick amused exhale. “I know. I missed that as well.” He’s running a hand lazily through Sylvain’s overgrown beard, a solid inch long instead of the short growth of scruff he prefers to keep. He’s lazily rubbing his nose against Sylvain’s chest, tilting his head and resting his cheek against the soft thatch of ginger hair he’s always been so fond of. 

“You love me,” Sylvain says, confident and comfortable and also really wanting to hear it. _Knowing_ it is good, knowing it’s great, he doesn’t doubt Felix, but still. 

“I do,” Felix says in his my-husband-is-an-insecure-idiot tone. “I love you. And I love it when you call me kitten,” he adds before Sylvain can even ask, can even check again that their old comfortable normalcy is still secure. Felix grimaces again. “And you’re going to wash off as soon as you get up tomorrow.” 

Sylvain buries his nose in Felix’s hair to get a deep breath of clean, fresh soap and then pulls back, lifting his arm and sniffing at that, just for contrast. It’s so bad. A week of riding without bothering to bathe or wash his clothes has not done any favors, especially when Sylvain’s always a furnace who sweats far too much under his winter coat. 

“Sort of surprised you haven’t kicked me out.” 

Felix doubles down on his my-husband-is-an-insecure-idiot voice. “I have never kicked you out of our bed, Sylvain.” 

He’s so annoyed about it, curled up like an offended cat, reaching his arms around Sylvain’s shoulders like Felix can physically anchor him in, hold him close enough to get rid of all his insecurities for good. Every time he does this it’s the cutest thing Sylvain’s ever seen, and the sweetest, the most sincere. 

“I know. Love you too, kitten,” as though any doubt can be left after Sylvain’s years of being Felix’s sparring partner, advising him through difficult negotiations, rubbing the knots out of his shoulders and always, always coming back. 

Felix’s tiny grunt is his well-that’s-settled noise, satisfied in Sylvain’s agreement, transcendent in Sylvain’s return to his arms. “Hurry up and sleep,” Felix says, sprawling back on the bed and pulling Sylvain after him by the simple expedient of grabbing Sylvain’s shoulders as he falls. 

It works - Sylvain lets it work, lets himself collapse heavy and sweaty over Felix, keeping his husband warm and secure beneath the blanket of his body. 

“In a minute. Don’t I get a chance to look at you? You’re going grayer.” Those silver streaks in Felix’s hair look so much like they should feel different, finer and coarser, but they're the same soft silk as the rest of his hair. 

“And you’re hairier.” Felix tugs meaningfully at Sylvain’s unkempt beard and at the hair spilling down the back of his neck. “And softer.” He strokes Sylvain’s chest.

Sylvain nuzzles at Felix’s neck in retaliation. The beard’s probably too long and soft to leave a nice beard burn, but Sylvain can dream. “Mmm. Don’t need to do that much training during peace talks. Swinging a lance around is kind of counterproductive, you know?”

“I don’t dislike it. You look good,” Felix says, finally settling back all the way, letting his hands drift down to the mattress, smile tugging at his lips. Sylvain kisses the little corner of Felix’s mouth that always betrays his mirth, licks at it for good measure, nips at it until Felix pushes him away and Sylvain is left straddling his lover, grinning as innocently as he can. 

“ _Sleep_ ,” Felix says again, implacable. 

It’s a nice order to follow, especially once he slumps forward against Felix’s chest, head tucked into the soft hollow of Felix’s throat, right hand resting on Felix’s shoulder, legs all entwined. There’s Felix’s annoyed grunt at Sylvain’s habit of sleeping sprawled across him, and then there’s Felix’s hand in his hair, keeping Sylvain right where he is. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of smut and a lot more softness.

Somewhere there are the noises of shuffling paper and Felix’s quiet sighs, tenuous lifelines that intrude on Sylvain’s dreams and lure him back to consciousness. And then there’s a warm bed and the light of day and actual Felix, sitting cross-legged beside him, clothed and alert and frowning down at a pile of papers. There’s always paperwork. 

The paperwork is not, at this point in time, as important as Sylvain, and parchment can survive getting a little crushed, so he rolls across Felix’s legs and buries his face against Felix’s stomach, grinning at the startled _Sylvain!_ he gets. Felix is dressed; there are far too many layers of fabric between him and smooth skin, but Sylvain memorized exactly how to remove every one of Felix’s outfits ages ago. He undoes the buttons of the tunic and pushes up the hem of the undershirt quick and efficient without even opening his eyes, nuzzles his nose against the base of Felix’s ribs, feels Felix relax into instinctive comfort. 

“Sylvain,” Felix says, loving and admonishing. 

Is he still lying on the paperwork? Sylvain squirms experimentally, registers the crumple of parchment under one of his legs and shoves it away before going back to his work, licking down to Felix’s bellybutton and rubbing his overgrown beard all along the divots of Felix’s abs. 

Felix sighs and twines his hands into Sylvain’s hair, tugging gently with one and scraping blunt fingertips from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck and back again until Sylvain’s not even pressing up into it, just melting against the soft delight of attention, spilling tiny whimpers out onto Felix’s lap and twitching, lazily rolling his hips against Felix’s knee, losing himself in the slow build of comfort and pleasure. 

The hands in his hair tug more sharply. He reluctantly lets himself be pulled away from Felix’s belly and surges upwards, far past wherever Felix was leading him, knocking their foreheads together in his haste to steal a morning kiss. 

“You’re still filthy,” Felix mutters when he pulls away. 

The words lack bite, what with his hair loose and long and his shirt half undone and the trusting tilt of his head against Sylvain’s hand. It’s not nearly enough to stop Sylvain from undoing the collar of Felix’s shirt and scraping his teeth carefully over the smooth, unmarked skin of Felix’s shoulder, nipping until he hears Felix’s quiet, amused sigh, biting in earnest to draw a moan out of his lover. But he’s pulled back again, Felix’s hands insistent as they use his hair as a convenient guiderope. 

“Breakfast, Sylvain.” 

It’s definitely an order. There’s a tray and everything, set on their bedside table in easy reach. Fragrant, delicious scents waft over. Sylvain has been living on travel rations for a few days, but there’s appealing food and then there’s Felix, looking up in increasing exasperation, frowning like Sylvain’s a stubborn piece of paperwork. Nothing’s prettier than Felix’s amber eyes and nothing feels more like home than Felix’s familiar annoyance; simple food doesn’t stand a chance at capturing Sylvain’s attention. He steals a few more kisses, deeper and longer, tipping Felix back onto the bed until Sylvain’s on all fours, pinning Felix by his wrists and taking his time to leave a dozen marks down the front of his chest.

“I can think of a few things I’d rather have for breakfast,” he murmurs into Felix’s ear between two lovebites. It’s been a while since he needed his low, seductive, I’m-going-to-fuck-you voice. He’s pretty sure he nailed it. 

The effect isn’t quite what Sylvain hoped for. Pros of spending blissful years with Felix: pretty much everything. Cons: Felix has miraculously found the ability to _resist_ Sylvain’s sex voice, which is a minor problem, but so annoying. More annoying than ever when Felix snorts in amusement and easily squirms out of Sylvain’s hold, reclaiming his hands and ducking away from Sylvain’s tackle. 

“Bath, breakfast, and then I’ll consider it.” Felix returns his attention to his paperwork as though Sylvain isn’t _right there_ , half hard and extremely naked and needy. 

“Asshole,” Sylvain says, grabbing Felix again long enough for one more lingering kiss and slipping off to oblige. 

He takes his time. Once he climbs into their decadently large tub he remembers just how much he hates being filthy and, also, how great warm water and expensive soap are. Sylvain also might be waiting to see if Felix gets impatient enough to join him. But Felix has learned some measure of patience over the years and Sylvain is just, like, _so_ eager, so he breaks before Felix does, towels himself off adequately and goes back to find Felix still serious and work-focused in their bed. 

Unfortunate, really, as Sylvain flops back down and arranges himself sprawled between Felix’s legs again, undoing the shirt Felix so rudely re-buttoned and going in for more tummy kisses. Felix stifling the sound of his laugh doesn’t do much when Sylvain’s pressed close enough to feel the shape of his chuckle. The bastard tugs Sylvain away again before he can do anything more. 

“You agreed to breakfast first,” Felix says. 

“I agreed to nothing, kitten, but I very kindly and thoughtfully let you talk me into taking a bath.” 

Felix flicks the center of his forehead, smirking. 

“And this is the response I get,” Sylvain sighs out, flopping onto his back and looking dramatically to the ceiling for commiseration. “Heartless cruelty.” 

Felix’s laugh makes it all the way from his belly to his vocal chords and out through his mouth this time, loud and sharp. 

“Mocked in my time of greatest need.” Sylvain presses his face into Felix’s thigh, fine fabric over smooth muscle, mouthing against it despite the unfortunate barrier between him and Felix’s annoyingly unmarked skin. It’s basically a crime that Sylvain’s been here for hours and Felix still isn’t covered in hickeys. Definitely a crime.

“Breakfast,” Felix says again, like a guy who’s delighted to see his husband back home and reasonably concerned about whether he’s eaten enough in his hasty travel, and also like an obnoxious bastard who enjoys being difficult and gets off on making Sylvain wait. 

“Fine, fine, breakfast.” The tray’s already right there and everything, and he drags Felix unceremoniously into his lap. “As long as you stay right here.” 

“Gladly.” 

Breakfast is pretty good now that Felix is comfortably sitting sideways across his lap, running his hands over Sylvain’s shoulders, lazily accepting offerings of choice morsels off Sylvain’s plate. Sylvain just about dies every time he feeds Felix a particularly crisp bit of bacon, Felix considering it carefully before delicately nibbling on it and then licking the grease off Sylvain’s fingers. After a few of those moments, and a little more than half his heaping platter of food, breakfast is abandoned again. Unless slipping two of his fingers into Felix’s mouth and groaning while Felix glares and then relents, wrapping his tongue around the whorls of Sylvain’s fingertips, counts as some sort of breakfast. 

Actually, he’s pretty sure that counts. Like, it’s so hot, it’s feeding Sylvain’s soul at least. Felix smirks when Sylvain instantly hardens, snickers and clambers off Sylvain’s lap when Sylvain grinds up against him. 

“Felix. _Felix_ ,” Sylvain loves this little fucker, and goddess he’s a difficult bastard most of the time, “are you really going to leave me like this? Come on,” Sylvain splays his legs open as temptingly as he can, thumbs at the tip of his own cock, shudders as he imagines his own hand replaced by Felix’s, calloused and firm, taking him apart. 

But unlike his imagined Felix the real one is perched on the bed cool and amused, smile quirking one corner of his mouth, and it’s still Sylvain’s hand on his cock. 

“I am considering it,” Felix says, holding his hand out in a _go on_ gesture. 

“Kitten,” Sylvain gasps out, wrapping his hand firm around his cock and stroking, playing with the soft skin of the frenulum, letting his head drop back against the headboard with a low groan. His whine feels dragged out of him inexorable as sunrise as he thrusts up into his own fist, twitching and tensing, craving release but not as much as he craves his lover’s particular touch. 

“All right,” Felix finally says when Sylvain’s sure he can't take anymore without coming all over his chest and their bed, brushing away Sylvain’s hand impatiently like he’s the one who’s been forced to wait. 

“Yes. _Yes,_ ” slender fingers taking hold of Sylvain, cupping his balls and teasing over the underside of his cock, and then no words at all as a tongue joins them, lapping at his slit before lips wrap around him with the careless skill of a man who’s had years to learn what makes him fall apart. 

Sylvain comes with a gasp, lying limp, doing his best to meld with the bed beneath him and Felix above him and reaching up to wrap his hands around Felix’s waist when that turns out to not be an option. There’s Felix’s chuckle, pressing into Sylvain’s glow of contentment. There’s Felix’s mouth, pressing quiet kisses amidst the edges of Sylvain’s gasps. Felix’s weight, settling onto his chest gentle and contented, claiming the space that belongs to him alone. 

“It’s good that you’re back,” Felix says again, voice muffled by the crook of Sylvain’s shoulder and hand cradling above Sylvain’s heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might keep adding the far post-war established-relationship Sylvix snippets here.
> 
> [I'm on twitter.](https://twitter.com/thecaryatid)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain has a beard. He gives Felix beardburn but, like, sexy.

When the clear morning light wakes Sylvain up, Felix is still asleep. He’s always grumpy when he sleeps in too late, so Sylvain cuddles closer and runs his fingers through Felix’s silvering hair until he shifts with an annoyed grunt. 

“Morning,” Sylvain says, kissing Felix’s forehead. 

“Hnng.” Felix wakes up enough to groan and shove Sylvain sleepily away. “I should go train,” he mumbles, instead of wishing Sylvain good morning or kissing him back. 

“Nope. You’re staying here for a few more minutes.” Sylvain rolls over and sprawls across Felix’s chest. 

Felix groans, continuing his early-morning habit of just not using words, ever, but he stays put, closing his eyes and relaxing. So, like, nice. Early morning grumpy-relaxed Felix, squinting his closed eyes in the slow-brightening room and nestling closer to Sylvain? So nice. Poetry nice, ballad nice, worth-the-rest-of-his-life nice. 

He kisses Felix right on his sleepy little frown, lingering over it, nipping at his lower lip. 

“I thought you wanted me to rest,” Felix grumbles into Sylvain’s mouth. He winds his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, tugging him away. 

“That’s not what I said,” Sylvain teases. He pulls out of Felix’s grip, grinning at the sting. Felix drops his hand with a disgusted grunt and blinks his eyes open again, presumably to glare. 

Sylvain snickers under the full force of his husband’s dire glare. He trails his fingers over a lock of hair framing Felix’s nose and then grabs the collar of Felix’s silky nightshirt. It’s warm enough for the winter chill that permeates their quarters, but it’s also getting in the way of Sylvain’s wandering hands. It has, like, way too many buttons that he makes himself undo one-by-one, fending off Felix’s half-hearted attempts to shove Sylvain’s hands away, until he finally eases the shirt off Felix’s shoulders. 

A pretty flush caresses Felix’s chest. Sylvain kisses his sternum right where it’s the clearest pink, rubs his beard against it for good measure, grinning at the gentle scritch of wiry hair on soft skin.

Felix hisses and squirms away. It’s pointless, since he ends up cornering himself between the headboard and the wall, where there’s nowhere left to retreat. 

“Do you surrender yet?” Sylvain says, slipping his fingers into Felix’s waistband, slowly tugging his pants down. And, yeah, there’s his pretty dick, half-hard and as pink as his flushed cheeks. 

Felix sighs when Sylvain plays his tongue over the tip, and he groans when Sylvain swallows it down until the head is pressing against the back of his throat, and he hisses a curse when Sylvain pulls away. 

“Come on,” Sylvain says, admiring the spit-slicked cock, “say you surrender and I’ll suck you off properly.” 

“I’ll say no such thing,” Felix says. He hooks his leg around Sylvain’s shoulder, pressing him closer. 

Felix’s legs are, like, strong? And he’s good at leverage, neatly pinning Sylvain between his thighs, face pressed right near his cock. Sure, he could wriggle free, but there are so many ways to take his sweet revenge while he’s trapped between Felix’s legs. 

Case in point: the crease of Felix’s thighs, right within reach and perfect for kissing. Felix’s death grip relaxes as Sylvain leaves sloppy kisses over it. His grip tightens again when Sylvain abandons simple kissing to rub his beard all over Felix’s thigh, grinning when Felix kicks a heel right between his shoulder blades. 

“Awww, kitten, is that not what you wanted?” He asks, and yeah, Felix’s legs are strong, but he’s still sleep-sluggish and Sylvain’s also pretty damn strong. He pins Felix’s thighs open, a nice defenseless banquet just for him. 

“I was promised a blowjob,” Felix hisses, bucking up against Sylvain’s hands. 

“I don’t recall promising anything.” Sylvain slides his hand up Felix’s thigh, through tangled black hair and over the base of his cock. He stifles a laugh as Felix presses up toward it, humping against Sylvain’s palm. 

“Asshole. Take some responsibility.” 

Sylvain hums. He wraps his lips around the head of Felix’s cock. The response is immediate — Felix goes limp and relaxed, now that he’s getting what he wants. Perfect. A perfect view, a perfect feeling, a perfect opening. 

He pins Felix’s thighs a little more securely. Felix just goes, relaxed and distracted by Sylvain’s extremely competent, very good, really just to die for blowjob, running his tongue against the underside of Felix’s cock. Felix’s sounds get softer and sleepier as Sylvain slows his pace to barely quicker than teasing; he only makes a vaguely-interested grunt when Sylvain circles his thumb around Felix’s entrance, and another soft groan when Sylvain sinks down onto Felix’s cock, filling his throat, swallowing around it. Perfect. 

Felix mutters something too soft to hear but certainly insulting when Sylvain pulls off for the second time, but his legs are already pinned firmly open — he doesn’t stand a chance of squirming away when Sylvain switches from lazy morning blowjob to nuzzling his beard all along Felix’s cock, dragging bristles over that lovely, heated,  _ sensitive  _ skin. 

“Syl _ vain _ ,” Felix yelps. His thighs tense under Sylvain’s hands as he tries to snap his legs shut and kick Sylvain away, but he can’t compete with Sylvain’s perfectly-leveraged grip. 

“That’s me,” Sylvain mumbles against Felix’s cock, doing a really thorough job of getting it all tender from his prickly beard. The fight’s just started; he’s braced for it when Felix reaches down and grabs his hair. 

The ache goes straight to Sylvain’s cock, and he lazily ruts against the sheets, adding direct stimulation to the very present and pleasurable experience of starting his day between Felix’s legs, with Felix’s hands yanking his hair, Felix’s tiny suppressed moans singing down to his ears. 

“You could tug a little harder,” Sylvain says. “That really gets me going, you know?” 

And Felix does know, and in typical Felix fashion he says “Fuck you” and lets go of Sylvain’s hair. Pity. He goes for Sylvain’s hands next, trying to pry them off his thighs. 

And, yeah, Felix will probably win eventually, but not before Sylvain gets his whole groin really covered in beardburn. Goddess, Felix is going to be pink and raw for days, squirming in prickly-pear pain every time Sylvain so much as gropes him. Fuck, Sylvain could come like this, barely even rutting against the sheets, just picturing Felix quivering and gasping out conflicted little moans the next time Sylvian jerks him off, from the hisses he’s making now. Felix twitches under him, breaths turning to whimpers, legs going from flexing against Sylvain’s hands to helpless trembling. 

“Sylvain,” he says, strained, music to Sylvain’s attentive ears, “if I have to train with beard burn on my dick —” 

Sylvain shuts him up easy, turns frustrated words into another sharp gasp by nosing his beard down against Felix’s balls. Hesitantly, he releases his grip on Felix’s thighs. They twitch as he lets go, but Felix doesn’t close them or kick him away. Nice. 

“Yeah, you’ll be so mad at me,” Sylvain mumbles between careful licks at Felix’s slits. “You can’t stand getting all prickly and sensitive, right? You’re definitely not going to get all squirmy at how fabric feels against all that sensitive skin.” 

He grins and wraps his fingers around Felix’s shaft, gentle, holding it in place so he can turn his head and drag his cheek down his whole cock. Felix —well. That’s a nice sound, a little whine that chokes off into a stifled gasp. Sylvain likes it so much he does it again, getting the skin properly red and irritated. Each time Felix’s sounds get less restrained, desperately-stifled wet noises escaping until he’s moaning shamelessy. 

“Ah, look how much you hate this.” Sylvain kissses the underside of Felix’s cock and pulls away, admires the flush creeping down his chest, his splayed knees, heels pressing into the sheets. “Not greedy for it at all; you’re definitely not going to drag me into a closet this afternoon and shove your dick down my throat when you get too turned on from how perfect the sting feels.” 

Felix’s eyes narrow.

Sylvain winks up at him and innocently lets go of his cock, sits up and rolls his shoulders back. “I mean, I can’t keep doing something you  _ hate _ so much, can I? Don’t worry, I’ll go get the lotion. You sit back and let me take care of your poor, sore skin.”

“Sylvain,” Felix hisses. He’s scowling with intent to stab. 

The cabinet with the good lotion, the stuff with the healing enchanted into it, is on the other side of the room. Sylvain gets up to fetch some. 

Felix lunges. It’s impressive how quick he can go from lying across the bed to tangling his hand in Sylvain’s hair, kicking Sylvain’s legs out from under him, dragging him back to the bed. 

“Finish what you started,” Felix snaps, shoving Sylvain’s head back down, holding him there, bristly chin pressed right up against him. 

“You could’ve given that order to start with,” Sylvain says, muffled, beard scraping against Felix as he talks. 

He drinks up Felix’s ragged moan as he gets back to work, alternating long, lazy licks along his shaft with scraping kisses, taking brief breaks to nip along the inside of his thighs — gotta mark those up too. Felix fingers tighten in his hair as his moans get shorter and sharper — clear signs, in Sylvain’s professional opinion, that he’s close. Time for a strong finish. He tilts his head back, strokes Felix’s balls carefully with his calloused fingertips, flattens his tongue along Felix’s frenulum, and smirks as Felix’s hips hitch up. 

Sylvain closes his eyes while Felix comes. Most of it spills messily onto his face, dripping down into his beard. He gives Felix’s softened cock one last little kiss and clambers back onto the bed, nestling down against Felix, who’s sprawled out relaxed and satisfied. 

Felix grunts and pets Sylvain’s hair, eyes closed, until he presses his damp, come-splattered face against Felix’s cheek. Felix just about snarls and shoves him away. 

“Come on, don’t I get a post-blowjob kiss?” Sylvain pouts. 

“Not while your beard’s full of come.” Felix glares up, every trace of post-sex sleepiness already gone. 

“Technically that’s kind of your fault,” Sylvain says. He dives forward. Felix kicks ineffectually while Sylvain pins him by his shoulders and leans in for a messy kiss, smearing the stuff all over Felix’s cheeks. 

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Felix says, twisting away but also grinning, laughing, shoving Sylvain in retaliation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beardvain


End file.
